You say that the means fortify the ends
But I refuse to crucify any more friends
You claim that the crow is tolerable with white wine
I choose instead to draw my own imaginary lines

When will we ever feel the sun?
When will we ever have some fun?
When will we ever be all but done with our accomplishments,
Fulfilled by mass acknowledgement,
Relieved of our embarrassment,
When?
When?

You say that the Dream solidifies the means
But I reject my assignment to the underground machine
You wave the goal approaching the divine
As I choose to subsist within my own imaginary lines

Why must we congenially drink the rain?
Why must we eventually taste the pain?
Why must we ever be all but hung for our proficiency,
Stung by our own technology,
Loathed for our non-apology,
Why?
Why?

Where is the roadmap to the Promised Land?
Where is the soft and sympathetic hand?
Where is the hunger for the justice of our own righteousness,
Promotion of our exultance,
Adoption of our endorsement,
Where?
Where?
Where?
Where?
Where?
Where?